Harry Granger and the Eye of the Basilisk
by Gray Fedora
Summary: The end of Harry Granger's first year at Hogwarts was fraught with danger and injury, but it's nothing compared to this. A monster runs loose in the school, a ghost commands a bathroom, and on top of everything else one of his friends is acting extremely peculiar. But just what is the monster, and what does the villainous Lord Voldemort have to do with things?
1. Azkaban Prison

160 kilometers off the shore of Fraserburg, Scotland, a lone rock juts out from the Dead Sea. Above this rock and for several hundred miles in any direction is a thick cloud of mist blanketing the waters in perpetual fog. And it was onto dark, forbidding rock that Draco Malfoy stepped.

A shiver ran through his body as he left the range of the assorted Patronuses and warming charms that the boat behind him held. In short order his mother Narcissa stepped off behind him, and they set forward towards the only structure on the island.

Azkaban Prison.

A tall, triangular spire carved out of solid, unpolished obsidian, empty save for the prisoners inside and their keepers, the Dementors. It was they who were responsible for the everlasting cold surrounding them, the seemingly infinite fog, and the inexplicable feeling of dread that Draco felt.

Or maybe that was something else, he thought.

Warmth slowly began returning to Draco's fingertips as an Auror followed them off of the boat, bringing his wolverine Patronus with him. He nodded stoically and pressed forward, forcing Draco and his mother to follow. Though the cold had abated, a single Patronus could only hold Dementors back so much, and he could still feel the weight that had been on his shoulders for weeks multiplying with every step towards their government sanctioned hive.

It was not unheard of for an Azkaban prisoner to request visitors. Quite the opposite, in fact, in the early days of incarceration many would send invitations to family and spouses as often as monthly. It was one of the few privileges afforded to them, given at the behest of none other than the Malfoy family itself after Lucius I jinxed the Queen of England. Few would willingly visit Azkaban, though, and as the Dementors broke their spirits every prisoner eventually stopped asking. And yet here Draco was, at his father's invitation after almost seven years in hell, when he had never so much as sent a letter.

The walls of Azkaban were nearly as cold to look at as they almost definitely were to touch. As they passed into the building Draco allowed his path to drift to the center of the entrance hall, as far from the walls as he could possibly manage. It was dark and forbidding, the surroundings black as coal, yet shiny in the torchlight that marked their path. The entire hall was closed off, leaving Draco with the distinct and painful feeling of being trapped. If this was what it felt like to be outside the bars, Draco thought, then to be inside must be pure torture.

After what felt like far too long, they came to their destination. It was a small room set to the side of the hall, and was made of concrete rather than obsidian. Draco had never been quite so pleased to see gray in his life.

"Take a seat," the Auror said gruffly, nodding to the table and chairs in the middle of the room. "I'll be back with the prisoner soon." He left, bringing the silver wolverine with him. The moment the door shut Draco felt the smothering presence of Dementors vanish, and he let out a sigh of relief. His mother, too, relaxed; though to the untrained eye there was no change in her posture. Draco took in a deep breath.

"So what do you suppose he wants?" Draco had asked this question many times since they had received the letter, both to himself and in owls with his friend Hermione, but never once to Narcissa.

"I don't know, dear," she replied. "I imagine he feels the need to check up on us."

"But why now? It's so… out of nowhere." Narcissa shot him a sharp look, and he swallowed. Time spent with Hermione, who was both of common blood and Muggleborn, had caused him to pick up several new turns of phrase that his mother did not approve of in the slightest. "I mean, unexpected, considering that he hasn't contacted us in so long."

"Well you must remember Draco, there are no suns, no clocks, and nothing to think of but your worst memories… to him it may not have seemed that long. It's very easy to lose track of time in a place like Azkaban." Narcissa clearly didn't believe this herself, but she was content to feed it to Draco so he would accept it for now. Before Draco could say anything else the door opened once again, letting the chill in. The Auror entered and yanked roughly, pulling in a face that Draco hadn't seen since he was nearly too young to remember.

Lucius Malfoy had seen far better days. His skin had always lacked color, but what once could have been called fairness was now only a dead paleness. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken, and under the ragged and loose fitting prison robes Draco was certain he was dreadfully underweight. Hair that once had hung only around his shoulders now reached near his knees, matted in many places and wisp thin in others. Facial hair had never suited Lucius, whose face had always been thin and angular, and yet it went unshaven, mirroring his hair in both length and grooming. Accounting for its lightness Draco thought, though he would never admit it to his father's face, that he vaguely resembled a disheveled Albus Dumbledore.

His eyes, though, were strange. At a cocktail party his mother had hosted when they still lived in France a few years prior Draco had met a man who had spent time in La Fosse, France's version of Azkaban. Though he'd only been there three years before his pardon, he had still been visibly defeated, and his eyes had reflected how broken he was. Draco saw nothing of that in his father's eyes. They continued to show nothing but defiance.

If Lucius was happy to see his family he did not show it. Instead he fixed a glare on the Auror, who returned it only for a moment before sighing.

"I'll be standing guard in the hall outside. The walls are several meters thick and are reinforced with the highest grade of warding against all attacks both physical and magical. Following your departure the prisoner will undergo a full body search, anything given to him, hidden inside of his body or concealed by magic will be discovered and confiscated. Should this happen you will both be placed under arrest for conspiracy to execute a prison escape, penalty for which is incarceration, life in Azkaban for you m'am and ministry custody with parole for the kid. You will be given one half hour alone before being removed from Azkaban Island. Are the terms of your visit clear?" Narcissa nodded. "Enjoy your stay then." That statement had to be sarcastic. He slipped out the door and shut it, a brief purple glow indicating its warding for privacy.

"Narcissa," Lucius said, opening his arms with a warm smile that didn't come close to his eyes. "You haven't aged a day."

"Thank you Lucius," Narcissa replied, her own tone expressionless. She was clearly as pleased to be visiting as Draco was. "But I think you'll find I've aged quite a lot. Seven years will do that to a woman."

"How dry. I think you may have spent too much time with the French, my dear."

"Perhaps it wasn't unpleasant enough for the Dementors to make you relive, Lucius, but you forfeited your right to any terms of endearment a long time ago. Or have you forgotten the way you treated me when you commanded the Death Eaters?" Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "I told you before your trial that I remain your wife only because divorce would be improper. And unlike you I have treated our union respectfully. Engaged in no affairs, upheld your House in your name, and come at your request despite the fact that I have no interest in being here. So spare me the pleasantries and tell us what you want." Lucius made no indication that his wife's tirade had unnerved him, or made him angry. He hardly seemed bothered at all, instead sitting calmly spreading his arms in a gesture of surrender.

"Truth be told Narcissa I only wished to speak to Draco. He is my son and my heir, and now that he has begun his schooling I felt it high time I took an interest in his life. If you're so repulsed by my presence, you are more than welcome to wait outside. I had nothing of importance to say to you either way." Narcissa wrinkled her nose at the implied insult.

"You don't deserve to get to know your son Lucius. But I will allow it, for one reason and one reason only. I want the pleasure of you knowing just how much better of a person he is than you." She turned to her son. "Draco, Lucius is unfortunately your father, and you should respect him as such," she said, her eyes conveying a motherly sternness. "But just remember that his ideals and what he was willing to do for them are the reason he's here. Do not take to heart anything he might say."

"I understand Mother," Draco nodded. Narcissa returned the gesture, and slipped out very quietly. Draco turned to Lucius, who observed him with a cold, calculating stare.

"So Draco, you've just finished your first year at Hogwarts, am I correct," he finally asked. Draco gulped.

"Yes father." It was not lost on Draco that these were the first words he'd spoken to his father in more than half a decade. "I'm in Ravenclaw."

"Oh, I know Draco." Lucius said, his voice taking on an eerie quality that Draco couldn't quite place. "I've heard all about it. How you abandoned the family tradition of Slytherin. How you've placed near the top of every class, and personally won your House a hundred points. How you've befriended a Mudblood and associated with another and several blood traitors. How you helped your little group of friends foil the Dark Lord's attempt to return to power. Oh yes Draco, I know all about that." Draco stared.

"How… how do you know all that," he asked, torn between genuine terror and Ravenclaw curiosity. Azkaban prisoners were supposed to be totally isolated. Lucius waved his hand flippantly.

"I have my sources. And I wanted to let you know, Draco… that I am grateful."

"Father- wait, what?"

"I said I am grateful, Draco. Has your time spent with filth harmed your hearing?" Lucius stared Draco down, his eyes much colder than his casual tone would suggest. "The Dark Lord would surely have found out on returning to power how I took his place, and no amount of groveling could have spared me after such an insult. Even if he had liberated me from this blasted place it would have been for a slow and painful death. So in that regard, you did save me, though whether it was your intention or not, I do not know."

"That was the reason I allowed myself to be involved, Father, only that," Draco lied through his teeth. In truth, he, Hermione and her brother Harry's group of friends had stumbled into the gauntlet entirely on accident, and even then according to Harry the entire thing had been a trap for Voldemort in the first place. They'd actually done nothing of value, and for their trouble Hermione had been nearly blinded while Blaise Zabini now walked with a cane. Still, his father didn't need to know that.

"Very good," Lucius gifted Draco with a small smile, which once again failed to seem genuine. "I am still troubled by your choice in friends, though. I had hoped Narcissa would have raised you better than to associate yourself with mudbloods and blood traitors."

"She wasn't exactly pleased," Draco admitted. "But only one of them could really be called a friend, and that's only because we were both outsiders. Certain… factors left me out of favour from the very beginning of my schooling." Lucius pressed his fingertips together.

"I suppose I can take the blame, then. But suppose I gave you a task, my boy. One that would put you into the good graces of… the right sort of people." Draco lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

"And what might that task be, Father?" Lucius smirked.

"Under the floor of the drawing room in the Manor, where I understand you are living again, is a hidden set of chambers. It is hidden and protected in such a way that no meddling imbeciles could find it without Malfoy blood. The farthest of these chambers was once my study, and in the bottom right drawer you will find a small black book…"


	2. The Trouble with Floo Travel

**I'm on a new computer and have yet to get word. This has left me with OpenOffice for the time being, and OpenOffice apparently hates me. I've done my best to fix any of the many formatting errors that happened during upload, but if anyone catches any please feel free to point them out so I can go back in and fix them.**

Harry,

_Everything's good here at home. Mum's busy with the restaurant as usual, but we've all got something to keep us busy. Percy's being an even bigger git than normal because he got one more NEWT than he expected, the twins have holed up in their room plotting and Ginny's spending most of her time with a friend in town. As for me I'm watching my calender. Bill's coming to visit next week and he's promised to take me to a Cannons-Falcons game. He also said I could invite friends, since he got us a box, the rich bastard, so if you and Hermione wanted to come and spend a few days here Mum said you'd be welcome. I'd invite the Muggles too but Percy would report them and you for breaking the Statute of Secrecy faster than you can say Quidditch._

_Send Hedwig with your reply. Errol won't be up to the trip back for a few days._

_-Ron_

Harry skimmed through the letter for a third time since he'd woken and found it on his desk. It was an incredibly tempting offer, both because he hadn't seen his best mate in a month and because it was professional Quidditch. Harry had already decided that summer to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team and replace Kenneth Towler, their current, hapless Seeker, and watching professionals play would no doubt help him learn the position. Far more than watching Hogwarts' sad stock of Seekers anyway, the only good one on the field was Hufflepuff's Cedric Diggory.

On the other hand, while Harry hadn't seen Ron in a month, he'd gone much longer without seeing his Muggle friends, Devon Eric and Maggie. They were Muggles, a crime of nature in Harry's opinion, and while Harry had spent the last year at Hogwarts they'd remained here in Ashford. There'd been a few weeks around Christmastime that they'd been able to spend together, along with Ron, but other than that it'd been nine months. Plus, Harry had to admit it was refreshing to pal around with his old friends and be a Muggle for a bit.

He shook his head and swung himself out of bed. He'd discuss it with the others and see what they thought. It was only a few days after all. He swiped his contact case from the bedside table-he was very near-sighted, and had needed to hold the letter very close to his face to read-and headed for the bathroom. His sister Hermione was already inside, brushing her teeth. She nodded in greeting, her mouth being full. Harry responded with a cheerful wave and opened the case.

"I don't know how you can do that," she said after spitting.

"Do what," Harry asked as he slid a contact on his brilliant green eye.

"Put those things on your eyes everyday." Hermione adjusted her brand new horn rimmed glasses, a necessity after an unfortunate curse had damaged her eyesight. She knew better, of course, than to complain to Harry, whose eyes had always been bad and were still worse than hers. "You're all but poking your finger into your eye." Harry shrugged.

"It's never been a problem for me." She shook her head, flossed thoroughly as she had been raised to do-their parents were dentists-and left. Harry sighed and set about his own morning routine, all the while examining himself in the mirror.

Harry had always known he was adopted. He looked absolutely nothing like the rest of the family after all, and even if his parents never even hinted at it. But it still boggled his mind to think that he hadn't realised who his birth parents actually were, even when he'd been shown a picture of them. He was like James Potter in miniature, from his stature and face to his untameable jet black hair. And then, of course, were his eyes, a mirror image of Lily Potter's. Even knowing, as he now did, that the secrets of his birth were protected by a spell called the Fidelius Charm didn't make it less mind blowing.

In all the world there were only three people that knew. Harry himself, of course, was now aware, as was Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Keeper of this particular Secret. The third was Lord Voldemort, the wizard-or shade of a wizard, that was-who was responsible for the death of Harry's birth parents. Harry had met the monster himself just before the summer, and it had been from him that he'd learned that he'd once been Harry Potter. It was important, according to Dumbledore, to think of the secret in those terms. If Harry ever thought of himself as still being Harry Potter, then the Fidelius charm would become a lie, and anyone who'd ever known Lily and James Potter would quite suddenly realise just how familiar he looked.

After an uneventful breakfast of cereal and eggs, the latter prepared by Hermione as their parents were in the office that morning as per usual, Harry met with his friends at their usual place in the park, and Harry shared the letter with them.

* * *

"Have I mentioned it's unfair that we're not wizards?" Devon snorted; Eric had complained about nothing else all summer any time Harry regaled them with tales of his adventures at Hogwarts. How he found it enviable that Harry and his wizarding friends had nearly been killed in a gauntlet designed to stop a fully grown dark wizard, none of them were sure.

"Speak for yourself," Maggie asserted as she had every time Eric said this. She was a year younger than the rest of them, and was adamant that she would be getting her own Hogwarts letter come July. Harry himself wasn't so certain, but he knew better than to try and say so; Maggie Jones was easily the smallest of their little gang, but just as easily the fiercest.

"So when are you leaving?"

"You want me to go?" Harry raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Devon nodded.

"Duh. I mean it's just a couple days, and you're really into this Quidditch thing right?" Harry nodded. He'd gone to every school game last year.

"So go," Eric chuckled. "What's stopping you?" Harry grinned.

"I figured you guys would think I was ditching you or something."

"What do you take us for?" Maggie laughed. "Besides, what do I have to be upset about? I'm gonna be joining you at Hogwarts after all." Harry had half a mind to write Professor Dumbledore and tell him to invite her whether she was a witch or not, or else arrange to visit the Weasleys again when the letters came. He didn't want to be around to face the disappointment if she didn't get in.

* * *

Mum had been told what to expect when the Weasleys came, and had even experienced it herself the prior Christmas when a delivery service had brought presents literally down the chimney, but it still startled her when the fireplace, which had never been used before, burst to life with green, crackling flames. To her credit she regained her composure fairly quickly, and was smiling welcomingly when Ron stepped out.

"Hello Ron, it's lovely to see you again." Ron smiled back.

"Hullo Mrs. Granger. How's your summer been?"

"Just fine, dear. Harry, remind me how you've been friends with this boy for a year and he hasn't rubbed off on you at all?" Harry mock pouted while Hermione, who had decided to come out of boredom, snickered. Behind Ron the fireplace roared to life again, this time depositing a short and plump woman with wavy red hair that could only be Ron's mother.

"Ronald, I told you to wait for me to get my handbag," she frowned, brushing her dress off before giving the Grangers a smile. "Hello, everyone. I'm Molly Weasley." Mum stepped forward and offered a hand politely.

"Monica Granger. So sorry my husband couldn't be here, but teeth wait for no man." Harry and Hermione simultaneously groaned. It was an old joke of their parents' whenever either of them had to work, and one they'd heard far too often. Mrs. Weasley, however, chuckled, being at the age where corny jokes were actually funny. "Would you like to stay for tea?"

"I would if I could," Mrs. Weasley replied apologetically. "But I have work as well. I've left Percy in charge at the restaurant and if I'm gone for too long my employees become irate." Ron elbowed Harry's arm, and they shared a grin. Being under Percy's rule would make them irate too. It was pleasing to them both that he'd chosen to forgo being a prefect in favour of studying for his N.E.W.T.s the year before. Mrs. Weasley withdrew a small pouch from her handbag and set it on the mantle behind her.

"This is your first time using Floo Powder, right dears?" Harry and Hermione both nodded. "Well it's fairly simple. All you have to do is take a pinch of powder," she explained taking some powder herself. "Throw it in the fireplace, and say where it is you're going very clearly. The fire won't burn you, but you do need to be careful not to breath in any soot. Just keep your arms tucked into your sides and absolutely do not let yourself tumble out of someone else's fireplace. Ours will be the one with the green fire in it, you'll slow down as you approach. I'll demonstrate, but just remember that you're going to the Burrow." She looked back up and smiled warmly at Mum. "It was lovely to meet you, Monica dear. Give me a call on the Floo some time and we'll have that tea. Molly's Café!" She tossed the Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald flames that appeared before vanishing.

"Wicked," Harry breathed. Ron winked and went next, shouting "The Burrow!" He too vanished. Hermione followed suit, annunciating clearly. Then it was Harry's turn. He turned as he walked up to the fireplace and gave his mother a quick wave and a grin before tossing his own powder in and disappearing into the single most unpleasant experience of his life.

Harry had experienced magical transportation once before, when Dumbledore had Apparated with him in clear defiance of one of the oldest rules of Hogwarts. That had been uncomfortable, but it was at the very least quick. Floo Travel was not unlike being launched out of a cannon, if that cannon also fired a large amount of smoke and sent you careening past dozens of fireplaces, and caused you to twist, turn, change direction and jerk around in mid-air. Not to mention the soot. Mrs. Weasley had warned him about breathing it, but she apparently forgot to mention his eyes, which were very quickly blurred by the ash that filled the extra-planar air. When he finally saw the Burrow's lit fireplace he let out an internal sigh of relief-he was quite adamantly holding his breath until he was out-and turned to fall out of it... only to completely miss and collide dead on with the one immediately next to it.

Tumbling out of the fireplace was almost as bad as getting in. His internal organs jarred from the sudden deceleration as he stumbled out onto a wooden floor, falling to his knees and swaying dizzily.

"Oh, goodness," a woman's voice said. Quite suddenly there was a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. "If you need to regurgitate please let me know so I can lead you outside." Harry blinked. His eyes were very suddenly burning, but he squinted to look up at the figure next to him. He could barely make out long, pale blond hair and wide blue eyes.

"Wh-what?"

"The Floo makes some people quite ill you see. There's no shame in it, I myself suffer from the affliction. And vomit is excellent for gardens, it attracts gnomes."

"I, er..." Harry shook his head, uncertain of how to respond. "N-no, I don't need to, er, regurgitate. I just, er..." His eyes were really starting to hurt now, and he squeezed them shut. "Is there a sink nearby?" The woman didn't answer him directly, instead helping him to his feet and leading him across a room. Years of STRANGER DANGER conditioning were screaming at him, but in terms of priorities his eyes came first. They came to a stop and the sound of running water hit Harry's ears. He reached out, found the counter, and slipped his contacts out, laying them down. Almost instantly the burning was reduced, leading Harry to believe that soot had gotten caught in them or something, but it was still there enough that he needed to start rinsing his eyes out.

"Ah, lenses," the woman said. "No wonder you're having such troubles. I've been telling the Floo commission for years that they need to extend the eye protection enchantments on the network to cover them. They keep telling me not enough wizards use lenses to justify it but I'm becoming more certain by the day that the Rotfang Conspiracy is expanding its plans to include corneal infections as well as gum disease. Either way, I suggest an Impervius Charm on each eye next time you use the Floo." Harry ignored the Rotfang Conspiracy comment, having absolutely no idea what she meant by it. "For now though... _Scourgify."_ She handed Harry back his contacts, and when he put them back on they were clean as a whistle, finally giving Harry a good look around the place. He was in some kind of round room with stone walls and a wooden floor. It was actually fairly large, containing a kitchen, dining room and living room all in one, although no walls separated them. A staircase spiralled up the wall to the next floor, which appeared, to Harry, just as open. Harry could also properly see his benefactor. Her hair, long and blonde as he'd been able to tell, was remarkably untidy for someone who kept it so long, being slightly tangled in places. Her face was long and pale, and was almost as soot covered as he probably was, all the way down her willowy smiled politely.

"Don't mind me dear, I was just experimenting with a new kind of house cleaning charm when you popped in. By the by, I'm Janet Lovegood. And you are?"

"Lost," Harry muttered. "I'm sorry, but I kind of need to go. I was headed for the Burrow, don't know how I ended up here." Mrs. Lovegood chuckled good-naturedly.

"You must have just missed the fireplace. The Weasleys are our neighbors. You won't even need to Floo again, they're just down the way... in fact... Ginny, Luna!" Mrs. Lovegood shouted at the ceiling.

"Yes Mrs. Lovegood?!" A voice called back down. Footsteps struck the wooden floor above and two girls' faces appeared over the banister-one very ginger and the other like Mrs. Lovegood in miniature.

"Could you girls come down here please?" The girls vanished again, and quickly came down the stairs. The blond girl was very obviously Mrs. Lovegood's daughter; not just her face but her entire body matched her mothers' perfectly. The other girl, however, was very, very obviously a Weasley. Both of them eyed Harry, the latter with suspicion and the former with interest. "Our young friend here was headed for the Burrow and missed the fireplace, and it's getting rather late besides. Do you think you could walk him home Ginny?" The ginger girl sighed.

"Yeah, I suppose. You're my brother's friend, right?" This, then, was clearly the infamous Ginny Weasley, whom Ron had described as defining the "Annoying Little Sister" rating on the Pain in the Arse scale. Harry nodded. "Come on then. See you tomorrow, Luna." She walked to the door, leaving Harry to follow behind her. The blond girl, Luna, waved goodbye.

"Goodbye Ginny." Her voice had a dreamy quality to it. "Goodbye Harry Granger. It was lovely meeting you." Harry muttered his own goodbye before following after Ginny. It was only once they were past the Lovegoods' garden of really, really weird vegetables that Harry realised something.

"Wait... I never told her my name."

"That's Luna for you," Ginny commented absently. She didn't elaborate.


	3. Cannon Fire

**This is exciting for me because I neglected Quidditch so much last book.**

The Burrow was not, as it happened, "just down the way," but a good ten minute walk. Along the way Harry and Ginny made small talk. He learned that she and Luna, who was her best friend and just a bit insane, were both entering their first year at Hogwarts, and that she was hoping for Gryffindor. In turn Harry shared some of his experiences at Hogwarts-the mundane, nonlethal ones, of course. She'd already heard about the big adventures. Then Ginny lamented that her brothers refused to let her fly a broom until Hogwarts, to which Harry retorted that he'd never even had the chance, although he did plan on getting a broom of his own before going back to school. When asked why Harry told her of his plans to join the Quidditch team, and from there the conversation took a sharp turn into Quidditch land, never to leave. Harry had once believed that Ron was the biggest Quidditch fanatic he'd ever met. Then he'd met Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, and he'd concluded that it was impossible to love Quidditch more than Ollie. Now he was questioning that. In the short time it took to get the rest of the way to the Burrow, Harry had been told pretty much everything there was to know about Ginny's favorite team, the Hollyhead Harpies. The players' stats, their broom models, great moments of their playing history, everything down to Gwenog Jones's height and weight.

"And then at the end of the match, just before Gideon Finch caught the Snitch, Wilda Griffiths managed to put the Quaffle in, putting the Harpies up 160 points and winning them the match even without the Snitch," Ginny was gushing excitedly as they turned into the Burrow's front yard.

"That's, er, great Ginny." Harry knew all of this already, of course. Hermione always donated him the sports section of her Daily Prophet subscription, so he'd been keeping up with the Quidditch season. He hadn't been entirely pleased with the win, being fond of the Appleby Arrows, but they were still ahead in the league so he wasn't too broken up about it himself.

"It's all just more proof that the Seeker isn't the most important player on the field. Good Chasers can turn the game to the point where even the Snitch can't save a team." Ginny had confided earlier that if she ever played Quidditch she would want to be a Chaser, so Harry sympathised somewhat. They entered the Burrow together, where Harry was immediately tackled.

"Harry! Thank god, when you didn't come out of the fire I thought something terrible had happened to you!" Hermione squeezed Harry tightly, then withdrew and slapped him upside the head. "Don't ever scare me like that again!" Harry winced.

"What happened to you mate?" Ron asked over Hermione's shoulder. Harry shrugged.

"Floo and contacts don't mix apparently. I came out the wrong fire."

"He ended up at Luna's house," Ginny supplied. "I showed him the way back."

"Thanks for that, by the way," Harry said gratefully. He took a look around the cozy living room, easily feeling at home even though it was nothing like his own. The tables were cluttered with books that weren't shelved when they were done with and spare scraps of parchment, the shelves lined with curios and things of sentimental value. It was very lived in, Harry decided.

"Well come on, I'll give you the grand tour," Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Ginny, if Bill comes back tell him we found Harry, kay?" Ginny just shrugged and dropped onto the couch, picking up a copy of Quidditch Weekly.

Though Harry hadn't really paid attention outside, he wasn't that surprised when the Burrow turned out to be a good seven stories tall, given the size of the family. Each sibling got their own floor, save the twins who shared, and the family ghoul lived in the attic.

"You'll barely know he's there," Ron was saying as they reached the top floor, where Ron lived. "He bangs on the pipes if it's too quiet in the house, but, well, the Twins live here." Ron's door swung open, and for a moment Harry was quite certain he'd been struck by the same curse that had taken Hermione's eyesight. After blinking a few times, though, he could see that it was just the brilliant orange of Ron's walls, bedspread, and posters. The entire room was a Cannons fan's safe haven. Every poster had a different player's name on it, although because they were wizarding pictures none of them stayed put, instead flitting in and out of each others' tossing a Quaffle and batting Bludgers. The pillows on the bed bore the Triple C's (two large black C's and a cannonball, the logo of the Chudley Cannons), as did his blanket. An autographed photo of Galvin Gudgeon, the Seeker, sat on the desk, along with their Potions textbook and parchment with a single line written on it. "So when Mum asks I can say I've started on my summer homework," Ron grinned when he noticed Harry looking. "What do you think?"

"I think... it's really, really orange," Harry said, twisting around to try and find anything that wasn't just a different shade. "But pretty cool."

"Good, cuz this is where you're staying." Ron nudged a cot next to his bed with his foot. Harry shrugged.

"Just as long as the walls don't glow in the dark."

* * *

_I am absolutely a Seeker_, Harry decided. He and Ron had each paired up with one of the Twins for two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard that afternoon, which unfortunately meant Chasers only. Harry had absolutely no ball handling skills whatsoever. He was accustomed to kicking it around on the football field, not tossing it directly at a person in mid-air. The good news was that Fred and George, being Beaters, were only marginally better. Ron usually played Keeper whenever there was a big enough game, which put Harry and Fred at a disadvantage, but even without that Harry's constant fumbling of the Quaffle meant they were guaranteed a loss.

"Boys, come in for dinner!" All four of them groaned at Mrs. Weasley's call, and came to a landing.

"Next time you're stuck with Harry," Fred told George while they were putting their brooms back in the shed-Harry's was Charlie's old broom, which had been left at the Burrow. Harry turned and crossed his arms.

"I wasn't that bad."

"Harry, mate, you threw the Quaffle at me instead of Fred," Ron laughed. Harry shrugged.

"I did say I was going to play Seeker," he said. Fred nodded.

"I'll give you that mate. You can fly pretty well." Harry beamed at that. He had been the only first year to be excused from flying lessons after the first one, even next to all of the purebloods who'd been flying all their lives. He'd bragged to Ron for weeks after that. Madame Hooch herself, the stern, no-nonsense flying coach, had commended him as a prodigy on a broom, and he'd gone out flying on the school brooms every so often just to practise. Judging by Charlie's old Comet, which outstripped the Shooting Stars by a wide margin, Harry figured he'd be even better on a new and modern broom. He'd been hinting to his parents that a trip to Quality Quidditch Supplies for his birthday present wouldn't be unwelcome.

They strolled into the Burrow very casually, and Harry took in the smell of what had to be the best food he'd ever smelled. Mrs. Weasley poked her head out of the kitchen.

"I expect you all at the table in five minutes," she said before retreating again.

"So why's dinner so early," Harry asked as they filed into the dining room. "It's only half four."

"Dinner rush," Fred snorted.

"Mum needs to be back at work before six or else the kitchen will muck something up," George explained. They all sat down at the table, which was empty save for the plates and silverware. Hermione and Ginny were already sitting next to each other, talking. Well, Ginny was talking, while Hermione politely pretended to listen. It was hilarious to Harry that he and Ron, who were alike in so many ways, had such opposite sisters. Where Hermione was bookish and well mannered, Ginny grew up in a sports-crazy house with six older brothers. Pretty much the only things they could be said to have in common were that they were girls, and Hermione's very, _very_ passing interest in Quidditch. Still, Ginny seemed to have latched onto Hermione, and was chattering at her much like she had to Harry earlier.

When Mrs. Weasley levitated dinner out, Harry could understand without tasting exactly why Molly's was so popular. She set down a delicious looking platter of lamb almost directly in front of him, and next to it a pot of sauce. There was also grilled asparagus, potato gratin, and a grainy dish that Hermione identified for him as couscous. She finished laying out all the food and looked around.

"Where on earth is... BILL!" She shouted the last word upwards, and the sound of a body hitting the floor echoed down from the ceiling. If Harry had the logistics right, that was Bill, who, being the oldest, was on floor above them. Bill's slow approach downstairs was marked by the creaking of the stairs, and then he appeared, rubbing the side of his head soothingly. Bill was, for lack of a better word, very cool looking, though in a stereotypical way. His hair was long and tied back in a ponytail, and a single dragon fang earring hung from his right ear. Unlike every other adult wizard Harry had ever met, who all wore robes, Bill was in jeans and a t-shirt, and for some reason had worn his dragonskin boots to bed. He swayed slightly as he took his seat next to the head chair of the table.

"Mum, I was on an international Floo today. Do you have any clue how exhausting that is?" Harry shuddered. If his experience just going from Kent to Devon had been that bad, he hated to think what it was like from Egypt. Mrs. Weasley tutted.

"You're welcome to go to bed after you have dinner with your family. And after you let me cut off that rat tail of yours." Bill rolled his eyes and ignored her. Harry had a feeling the hair was a long argument between the two of them. Either way it didn't matter, because with the table finally full they were free to start passing around platters, and Harry got his first taste of what had been described by many food critics as "the most delicious thing you will ever taste in your life, and you can tell that to your wife because she'll freely admit it's better than whatever slop she usually makes."

The food critics did not exaggerate.

* * *

In 1892, the Chudley Cannons held the record for most Championships of any team in the British-Irish league. By 1950, they were the laughingstock of the Quidditch world. Unable to win a single match and firmly affixed to the bottom of the league for almost seventy years straight. Their motto was even changed to "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best," at one point. But in 1982, a miracle happened. The Chudley Cannons won a game. It was only a pickup, of course, an exhibition. Many theories were put forward as to why, exactly, they'd won the game. Donovan Abercrombie, the Seeker of the opposing team, insisted for the rest of his life that he'd been distracted by thoughts of his brother fighting in the war and that was the only reason why he'd not seen the Snitch. It didn't keep him from being sacked for humiliating his team, of course, but that was how it stood. Invigorated, inspired, and no longer convinced that they were cursed, the Cannons embarked on the most rigorous training regimen in history. And once the league season opened, they won again. And again. The glory days of the Cannons had returned, and they were poised for the biggest upset in Quidditch history, ready to take the Championship for the first time in a century. Until the Falmouth Falcons beat them in the final game.

Harry had heard this story a thousand times from Ron. He'd also heard it from Susan, although being a Falcons fan she told it in a much better light for the Falcons-denying the Cannons the honour of being the first team in history with a perfect season and taking that title for themselves all in one season. Since then the two teams had been bitter rivals, constantly vying for the top position in the league although neither had won the Championship since.

Charlie Weasley lived in Romania and Percy had "no time for such frivolous nonsense, I'm studying," but aside from them every single Weasley sibling occupied one of the top boxes, which was just as orange as Ron's room was although in a much more muted pastel shade. Harry and Hermione were there as well. Harry also knew that Susan was in the crowd somewhere, although Ron adamantly insisted she was not to be allowed into their box unless she was willing to root for the Cannons, something that Harry knew she wouldn't do if a wand were held to her head. Instead they'd arranged to meet up afterwards.

An announcer stood at the centre of the field, with four referees surrounding him. One held the Quaffle, two were standing over the restrained Bludgers, and the last had a gloved hand outstretched with the Snitch inside.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" The announcer shouted, his voice amplified by the Sonorous Charm. "Welcome to this match between the Falmouth Falcons," he paused for cheering from the grey and white section of the stands, "aaaaand the Chudley Cannons!" This time the orange and black clad fans began cheering. Harry himself was certain his eardrums would burst by the time it died down, but that served him right for sitting between Ron and Bill. The other Weasleys were cheering as well, but not nearly to the same degree. He only gave a loud whoop, not being a Cannons fan himself, while Hermione couldn't even be bothered with that, instead giving a polite smattering of applause.

"And now! Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the FALMOUTH FALCONS! Arlen, Smithe, Whistler, Burke, Thannet, Higgs aaaand Spiel!" With each name another grey robed player zoomed into the stadium, each accompanied by... Harry's jaw dropped. They had actual, live falcons flying alongside them. The seven players entered a formation, with their birds mimicking it from above, and spun into a number of loops and flips, the falcons following every movement before bursting off and scattering into the sky. The Falcons (the players, not the birds) slowed to a reasonable speed and waved to the crowd, which was eating it up. Ron humphed from next to Harry.

"Show-offs. You don't need an entrance like that to be good Quidditch players." Harry shrugged. It had been impressive, there was no denying that.

"And now, if you'll all join me in welcoming... the CHUDLEEEY CANNONS!" Harry had the foresight to plug his ears this time. "Gudgeon, McLaggen, Forest, Forest, Pinchley, Maret aaaand Archer!" Like with the Falcons every name was met with another player coming out, and almost simultaneously the loud, unmistakeable booming of a cannon. They flew a single, rapid lap in tight formation, nodding or waving to the crowd in greeting, while the 1812 Overture (yes, the one with the cannons) played in the background through what Harry assumed were magical loudspeakers.

"Captains, come forward and shake hands!" Spiel, the Falcons' Seeker, and Archer, the Cannons' Keeper, flew up to each other, but didn't so much shake hands as engage in a bone crushing contest that would do Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint proud. They flew away then, directing their team into the official starting formations-Chasers facing each other at the center, Beaters down midfield, Keepers at the hoops and Seekers above them all-and the Head Referee blew his whistle. The Quaffle was thrown into the air, the Bludgers set towards each side, and the Snitch released. The golden ball promptly vanished; it would be five minutes before the Seekers were allowed to catch it.

McLaggen of the Cannons grabbed the Quaffle first, and was promptly clipped by Arlen. Harry winced; the Falcons were even better than the Slytherin House team at rough play and curtailing of the rules. It was a blatantly intentional hit, but because of the wording of the rules, it wasn't considered blatching unless it was a direct collision. In this case the blow was still hard enough to send the Quaffle flying out of McLaggen's hands and into Whistler's, who took off for the Cannon's goalpost while Ron shouted "FOUL!" repeatedly in Harry's ear.

Within minutes the Falcons were up 20, and Harry turned his attention to the Seekers, intent on studying their technique. Each seemed to have their own individual style. While Gudgeon hovered far above the field, an intelligent move given the Falcons' tendency to beat people down, Spiel was right in the thick of things. It was easy to see the reasoning behind each of their strategies. Gudgeon, being so far removed from the Bludgers and other players, could focus his attention solely on finding the Snitch. However, actually finding it would be far more difficult, and once he did he still had to dive, drawing attention to it. Spiel, on the other hand, could get to the Snitch more easily, was immune to tricks like the Wronski Feint, and was able to cooperate with his teammates more effectively-one trick Harry took note of was when he intercepted a Cannon's pass by swatting the Quaffle with his broomstick towards Smithe.

The Bludgers, by this point, were flying freely, although that was only temporary. Burke and Thannet, the Falcons' Beaters, apparently had a signature technique, bouncing a Bludger between them to build it's speed up before launching it at the other team's Beaters to take them out completely. A completely illegal move against any other team member, it only netted them five minutes of time out each, allowing them free reign of the Bludgers within fifteen.

Harry was busy watching Spiel corkscrew past a speeding Bludger in pursuit of a Snitch that turned out to be some audience member's gold watch when the Isaac Forest scored the first Cannons goal, and so was completely unprepared when Ron and Bill joined the rest of the Cannons supporting audience members in shouting "WE! SHALL! CONQUER!" at the top of their lungs. To his credit, Harry managed to keep his flinching down to a wince.

The game went on for about an hour. Gudgeon spotted the Snitch twice, but lost it the first time when Arelen sent the Quaffle at his head, and the second when both he and Spiel engaged in cobbing while chasing after it and were sent to the penalty box. The third time, though, Harry had a feeling it would be different. Gudgeon went into a steep dive, almost vertical. It was no feint, that would be stupid when Spiel was so close to the ground already, and Spiel did also take off on a slight incline and on a direct collision course with Gudgeon. They sped toward each other, and Harry followed their trails to see the Snitch himself, flitting about around where the two Seekers were set to meet. The stands grew quiet when they saw what was happening, certain that this was it. The score was still only 100-70 Falcons, so it came down to who caught it. They drew closer and closer, and it was evident that they'd reach the Snitch at the same time. Spiel was closer, Gudgeon's broom was faster. Just before they collided, Gudgeon leaned into his broom more, putting on a last little burst of speed. His hand reached up, and the flicker of gold in the distance disappeared into his hand.

The crowd went wild.


	4. Luna Lovegood

**Well, it's been almost a year guys. I'd say I was sorry, but really, I can only be partially so. I'm a full time college student, graduating next year, and I'm starting a game company with several of my classmates working on a project that's consuming a lot of my time and energy. Add in the fact that I have friends to socialize with, pretty girls to pursue romantic relationships with and Teemos to murder in League of Legends, I just honestly haven't had time. That said, I can't blame the delay entirely on that. The fact is every time I tried to write the follow-up to that last chapter I kept falling short. Any time I tried the only way I could do it without having it contain multiple different parts of the storyline, something I despise doing as a writer, resulted in clunky, fluffy crap that I wanted nothing to do with. After realizing it had been so long, though, and knowing how much I love the long, intricate and (hopefully) enjoyable storyline I have planned out for the full series, I sat down, and made what in retrospect was a very simple decision. I'm skipping it. Even though I'm averse to time skips when I've left hooks for things within the time being skipped, the only method I could think of to avoid the dreaded fluff was to jump straight ahead to the Hogwarts Express. And you know what. After so long, I'm okay with that decision. I've put too much thought into this storyline, another 6 years worth of adventures for Harry and company that I hope to equal JK's in both quality and epicness, to let it die to writer's block. Besides which, every once in a while I go on a nostalgic review reading spree and it makes me proud knowing that even a handful of people like my writing that much. I've been straight up told that I have the best fic on this site, and while I don't agree (I mean I'm competing with the likes of Nightmares of Future Past and Methods of Rationality for crying out loud), I still get goosebumps every time I read that review.**

**I'm going to work to make time for this story now. No more yearlong hiatuses even if it kills me. **

Harry kicked his heels back onto a free seat in the train compartment he shared with Ron and Susan, letting out a sigh of relief. Home and Muggle living had been a nice change, but Hogwarts and the magical world were where he belonged. Not to mention escaping Maggie. She was one of his best friends, certainly, but Harry was a 12 year old boy through and through, and that meant an extreme level of uncomortability with crying girls. So for now a retreat to Hogwarts where the only girls he ever dealt with were sensible Susan, Hermione (who was his sister and did not count as a girl), and Daphne Greengrass, his Slytherin rival. He snorted mentally at the thought of Daphne displaying that kind of vulnerability to anyone. The closest he'd seen her come was the end of last year in the gauntlet, when her friend Blaise had been injured, but she'd been heavily disoriented at the time, and even then she'd refrained from bursting into tears. Regardless, it would be good to get back to school. He missed magic, and Gryffindor Tower, and flying. Especially flying. His hints to his parents had paid off, and a brand new Cleansweep 7 sat at the bottom of his trunk. The first free moment he had he planned on taking it out for a spin.

The door slid open and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, as Ron, being bored already, had just then gotten his "pull out a chessboard and sweep everybody" face. Hermione stood in the doorway, her best friend Draco behind her.

"Finally found you guys. Do you mind if we sit here? We can't find any empty compartments at all." Hermione's foot was already in the door as though requesting an invitation were a formality. More people meant it was less likely he would have to be crushed in chess, but it was Harry's brotherly duty to give his sister a hard time anyway. And his friend too for that matter.

"Well…" he dragged out a pause. "A year ago the answer would have been no, but thankfully Susan's mellowed out a bit so the nag quota hasn't been met yet. " A hand lightly smacked him upside the head. "So I suppose you can join us." Hermione rolled her eyes and started in, but at that particular moment Ginny Weasley showed up, Luna Lovegood in tow.

"Oh, thank Merlin we found you. For a minute I was afraid we would have to share with Fred and George." The two girls started in alongside the Ravenclaws, but Harry and Ron instinctively raised their hands in refusal simultaneously.

"Now hold on just a minute," Ron said.

"Much as we'd like to host the party compartment," Harry continued.

"There's one caveat we need to work out first," Ron finished, concluding their eerie tribute to the Twins. Ron looked at Harry seriously, and Harry returned the sentiment. "Do we have enough room in this compartment for two annoying sisters?" Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"No… no, I don't think we do," he concluded. Ron nodded sagely.

"Well, I'm sorry Ginny, but I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere." The very tips of Ginny's ears turned red, a signal Harry had long ago come to associate with the Weasley temper. He raised a finger.

"Well hold on a moment Ron, who says we should invite Hermione and not Ginny?" Now Hermione's nostrils flared, the telltale sign of an impending nagging. Ron took a turn intervening, continuing as though their sisters had never even reacted. Ron looked mock shocked.

"We invited her first of course."

"Since when did either of us care about that?"

"Since the alternative was Ginny," Ron deadpanned.

"But Ron, Ginny's at least entertaining." Harry gave a sidelong glance at the girls, who appeared exasperated at the prospect of another round of "my sister is worse than yours," a game the boys had invented during the Grangers' stay at the Burrow. He could also see Luna, giggling silently behin Ginny's back, and Draco, whose amusement was far more strained. There were also light bags under his eyes, and Harry idly wondered if he'd been sleeping well.

"Well yeah, she entertains you in the sense that she won't shut up" Ron argued.

"She won't shut up about Quidditch, Ron," Harry countered. "There are worse things to talk endlessly about." Ron sighed.

"Yeah, but I could care less about her precious Harpies." Harry grinned; he had Ron on the ropes now.

"And with Hermione you'll have to deal with a bunch of nagging about summer homework, or eating too many sweets from the trolley." Ron grimaced at the prospect, but then his eyes lit up and Harry knew that it was over. That was the same look he got when he knew he'd won at chess.

"At least _Hermione_ doesn't think _I'm_ cute." The triumphant grin spread across Ron's face as an "eep" came from Ginny. Harry turned to look at her.

"How did you know I told Luna that!" She shrieked. Ron chuckled.

"You just told me." The red ears returned. Harry put on his most apologetic face.

"Sorry Ginny. I'm flattered and all but I decided a long time ago that girls who like me are going to remain icky until I'm 13. Pact with my Muggle friends, you understand." Ron had a self-satisfied smirk; he'd been told that story at Christmastime, and the circumstances (which had involved a cement truck full of glue and a large quantity of handkerchiefs) had made it memorable enough to use for fodder. Harry chanced a glance at Hermione at this point. She had been quietly seething through the entire display, and at this point appeared to snap.

"If you two are quite done insulting and embarrassing us," she practically hissed. "I think I've decided neither of us should stay here. You're not worth it. Ginny, would you and your friend like to find a compartment with us?" Ginny was blushing to her roots at this point, though whether it was embarrassment or anger was an unsolvable conundrum at this point. Either way she could only stammer out a "yes" before going through a series of deep breaths.

"Actually," Luna said cheerily. "I think I'd like to stay here if it's alright. Get to know new people and all that." Hermiones nostrils flared again.

"Why I-"

"It's alright, Hermione," Ginny interrupted, her voice level and noticeably chilly. "She's Luna, she does this sort of thing. I'm used to it." Hermione palmed her face in an exasperated manner.

"Fine. Let's go. We don't need you lot at all." She grabbed Ginny with one arm and the other took Draco, who gave them all a weak, indulgent smile before he was led off in a huff. Luna skipped daintily into the compartment and closed the door behind her, allowing the entire collective compartment to burst into open laughter.

"Do you… think that was a bit… overboard," Susan got out between chuckles.

"Nah," Harry said, calming his own laughter down with practised efficiency. "It's in the official sibling's rules." Ron nodded sagely and lifted a finger.

"When a sibling likes their sibling's friend, or could be perceived as such, it is the sibling's prerogative to make fun of them for it whenever or wherever, including in the presence of said friend."

"Article B, sub-paragraph F," Harry said. Susan looked at them like they'd each grown a second head.

"Is… is that real?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Of course it is. Every sibling in the world knows it by instinct. I'm more surprised you believed it straight away."

"Well I kind of had to, there was no way Ron would know a big word like 'prerogative' otherwise." She ignored Ron's "Oi!"

"They'll be fine," Luna said, bringing attention back to her. "In a few minutes Hermione will remember you were just teasing them, Ginny will get over it because it was a harmless observation and she isn't really interested in Harry at all, and they'll trade stories over how big of gits their brothers are." She giggled at that. "Oh, by the by, I'm Luna. It's lovely to meet you Susan Bones." Susan's eyebrow lifted.

"Um, thanks, I guess. How did you-"

"Don't," Ron said suddenly.

"But she knew my-"

"Yeah, Luna does that. She's kind of batty, but in a good way."

"Um… okay. You're a first year?" Luna nodded.

"I'm looking forward to the year, it should be very exciting. No more exciting than the last one, mind, someone would probably die if it were, but still, exciting." No one quite had a response to the "die" comment, and Luna didn't elaborate. "So, tell me, what's Gryffindor Tower like? I think I'll like living there."

"Well, Luna, I don't know if you'll live in the Tower or not," Susan said. "You might not be in Gryffindor. I mean, I thought I'd be in Hufflepuff, but I'm not."

"Yeah, and that's why we can't tell you anything," Ron said, his nose held high in an affectation of snootiness. "It's a secret for a reason." Luna giggled at Ron's antics.

"I assure you, Ronald, I'll be in Gryffindor," Luna said matter-of-factly. "It's much better for me than Ravenclaw, certainly, I'm quite certain they'll be mean to me just because they don't believe in Snorkacks."

"Um… Snorkacks?" Harry asked, his confusion growing by the minute.

"Fascinating creatures. They turn into rocks when noticed, possibly the most effective defense mechanism in nature. Unfortunately it means that people don't believe in them. It's a shame I'll never see one in my lifetime."

"Uh… sure. Why not." Ron was right, Luna was a little batty. She gave a sad smile.

"You don't believe me. It's quite alright, I don't expect you to. So, Gryffindor Tower?"

**In retrospect this is -still- fluffy, but there's Luna fluff included so I can live with it, because Luna makes everything better.**


End file.
